


Making Merry

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:56:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where in Sam thinks too much and his ability to put up with impromptu guests really gets put to the test.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Merry

**Author's Note:**

> The first of many, many stories I wrote for the 2014 Advent Calendar over at [lifein1973](http://lifein1973.livejournal.com) on LJ.
> 
> Vaguely hettish... gennish... humour-tinged... something or other?

There's not too much Sam would like to accomplish on Christmas Eve, and the list is very bloody short. Point the one: make a cup of tea. Point the two: ignore the knocking at the door.

The first is easy enough to accomplish: Sam puts the kettle on to heat and shuffles about the kitchenette. The second step will take a bit more effort on his part: maybe if he stands very still and doesn't make a sound, acting like he isn't at home, the pounding might (like magic – isn't it the time of year for that?) _stop_.

Kettle... still heating.

Knocking at door... doesn't falter in the slightest.

He sighs. Well, it was worth a try.

Still, an involuntary grin steals over his lips. Bloody thin walls in this place, and that goes for the doors as well. Sam knows he really isn't playing fair, but sometimes that's just the way it goes. Life's taught him that.

'This is – _blimey_! Bloody hell, don't you think this is a little bit ridiculous, Sam! Storming out of the office and then...' More knocking, saying on thing: Annie's clearly not got any intentions of just giving up and going home. Sam needs to make up his mind about this, and fast. Between her and Gene, they never just let it _go_.

He flicks at some imaginary dust on the worktop. 'Don't you think it's pretty bloody ridiculous of you to beat on my door like that?'

Speaking of beating, Annie doesn't miss one. 'Open up!'

Perhaps he finds the relentlessness somewhat attractive, and isn't that a dangerous thought – Annie would think him daft (which he probably is), and Gene would probably just punch him in the face (which he's sure he deserves).

It could be a lot of things. It could just be that he likes living dangerously, now that he knows he's _alive_.

Right, he'd definitely end up getting punched in the face. He'd best keep that line of thinking to himself.

His ears perk up, the pounding hasn't stopped. The intensity has lessened, he can admit at least that – could just be that Annie's close to giving up, or maybe she's gathering up her strength for another round. Another grin toys at his lips, a bitter chuckle joining in on the fun. Who knew that Christmas Eve would put him in such a mood?

It would be somewhat amusing, nearly ironically so, if one of his neighbours ended up calling the police because of the noise Annie's been causing. Short-lived amusement, of course – though Gene doubtlessly would have a field day with it, with his luck the mess would end up in the paper. Sam knows he has to put a stop to this, stop Annie's shouting.

Soon, but not quite yet.

He shuffles about the kitchen, still waiting on the kettle. He fetches his mug from the cupboard, sets it on the worktop. The surface was old and scuffed prior to Sam taking up residence in the place, and he tries to keep it clean when he's feeling up to the task – gives it a well-worn but lived in feeling, which starts to make the shitty little flat resemble something close to a home. He and Annie have had talks about getting a new flat, together, something to call their own, but it might just be that their relationship isn't strong enough for that. The talk leads nowhere, time and time again.

He thought about getting himself a tree, just an artificial one, something small that he could put up on the counter. He only spent one Christmas with Maya, but she invaded his flat and decorated it to her heart's content. What will Christmas with Annie be like?

This time-travel thing really throws you for a loop. Had it only been a year?

If he never had his accident in the first place, maybe she'd have invaded his flat again. Or maybe they'd both be at his mum's, right bloody _now_ , drinking mulled cider and listening to his auntie Heather attempt to play the piano. They only sometimes sang along... mostly to hide how bad the music was, but it was all in very good cheer. He knew how to relax, at least sometimes. His career was a very pressing matter, but he always made time for his family.

He could have invited Maya, she'd have been welcome... he _had_ planned on the eventuality, months and months in advance. So, if he never had been in that accident...

Seeing as this is just the first of a whole lot of Christmases he's going to endure without family at his side, he needs to just swallow that pain down and move on along, even if his heart is broken. Won't ever stop breaking, now that he's made up his mind. This is it, this is home.

There's no point in dragging it out. There's certainly no going back. Time heals all wounds, or so he's been told. How does that work when there's been time-travel involved?

He shakes his head, scatters those unwanted, depressing thoughts – Christmas time is bad enough already, now he's just wading into the proverbial emotional muck.

He hasn't forgotten about Annie.

'Or what? You're not the Guv, I doubt you'll try kicking it in.'

Maybe he shouldn't try her patience, test her limits. He's learned a lot about Annie in the months he's known her, and just like Gene she does have a way of surprising him again and again.

'Don't make me!'

He almost laughs, holds it in instead. He gives the door a sideways glance, then puts his attention back on his kettle. No more knocking, but the silence doesn't make him think that Annie's just given up and gone home – no, she's still waiting, standing out there in the sudden quiet of the hall.

'Sam?' Nearly timid, that, quiet and cautious as a mouse.

'Go home, Annie.'

He takes the kettle off the heat, grabs for his mug. On second thought, he fetches a second cup as well. He's got a guest waiting in the hall, after all. He'll be letting her in eventually, just as soon as he's finished being a prick.

'Sam... I might not be the Guv, but I do know how to pick locks.'

He weighs her threat, adds milk and sugar to her cup, just sugar to his own. The risk isn't worth it – his luck is already skating on very thin ice, and he'd rather not force Annie to break into his flat on Christmas Eve.

He crosses over and throws the latch, pulls the door open. At least Annie's manners are intact, all declarations of forced entry aside – she doesn't just storm into his flat, and in doing so claim it as her own. She's rather more subtle than that.

'Alright, alright – there, are you happy now?'

She doesn't look it. Red-cheeked, her lips pursed, her brow furrowed – if the mood wasn't already so heavy, he might have told her to lighten up. Still, even irritated, she's beautiful. He smiles, unable to help himself, and if anything that only seems to make her cheeks darkens.

Maybe smiling into his girlfriend's angry face when he's the cause of her frustrations isn't the wisest of things. He's been slapped by her enough to know he'd rather that not happen again.

'At least one of us is.'

She rolls her eyes, both of them standing in that one sarcasm-soaked moment, and he'd be lying if he said he hadn't wanted her to show up. She's his girlfriend, but they also work together... she picks and chooses her side carefully, depending on the situation. Sometimes she still sides with Gene over him, and Sam knows that's fair enough. He isn't always right.

What he needs from her isn't blind loyalty – he's the one who made her real by knowing when it was time to jump.

'Very funny, Sam.' She takes a step towards him, and without hesitation he does the same thing, pressing that much closer to her in the open arms of the door. 'Why'd you leave?'

Why'd he leave? Because he's tired, because he's sad – because he's sick and tired of Gene never just letting things _be_. It's been the rock this world was built upon from the day he woke up in it, and he doubts it's ever going to change. Maybe they'll learn to go easier on each other in time. Maybe they won't. Sam has faults of his own, and he tries to make better the things he's done wrong (there's some things he doesn't think he'll ever be able to properly repay), but Gene...

The stubbornness is piggish bullheadedness these days, obstinate to a fault. Give a little, take a little back, but there's no leeway in regards to Gene's half of the equation.

'Wasn't much in the mood for a party.' Sam rolls his shoulders into a shrug. Somewhat awkwardly, they're still standing at his open door. Nearly touching – it would be easy, no effort at all, to hug her.

'Look, just... just get back to it, alright? I'm okay. I'm sorry the Guv and I caused a scene, but...' But Gene's been riding his arse all week about the Clint case, and now... Maybe it's just something about Christmas. 1974 can't get here soon enough.

'The Guv's been just as worked up over everything, you know that, Sam – you aren't the only one who cares.'

'I wasn't saying that!'

'Yes, yes, I know, but I needed to say it. And it's your first Christmas here, so you wouldn't have known, but he does... well, he does tend to get a bit moody this time of year.' Her lips twist up into a grimace. 'Well – moodier.'

'Seasonal depression...' He sighs, shakes his head. It doesn't matter, does it? Nothing does. 'You know, there's no point in mentioning it. Even if he was here, it's not like he'd listen. My opinion tends to not matter, if you hadn't already noticed – he never listens to what I say.'

That isn't completely true, but Sam's upset enough over the entirety of the situation that he doesn't care if he's falsifying the details. It's Christmas, or close enough – he can get away with it.

She gives a slight nod, then hoists her handbag up, eyes brightening as she grins. 'Brought some wine.'

Sam chuckles, steps aside to let her in. 'Right – make yourself at home.'

It's not Christmas carols with his mum, but it'll have to do.

–

The wine might not be the best he's ever had, but the company more than makes up for it. He could definitely get used to this sort of thing. Just sitting with her and making idle talk, nothing pressing at hand. It makes him see just how really lucky he is.

It could have gone so very differently, after all... He knows what he wants now, and it's her. It's one more thing that he's going to be repaying for a long, long time – if he's ever even able to work off that debt completely.

Annie's smile, the fluster of heat on her cheeks, how they're sitting so close now... that drags Sam back to the here and now. He can drown himself in self doubt if he really wants to, but he knows what Annie wants as well – and that's for him, to stay. Which is what he's going to do.

'Refill?'

She nods politely. 'Mhmm.'

He goes about doing that, her glass and then his own, sitting back down when he's able. Gene would probably say they're staring at each other like star-struck teens, and maybe they are. He really can't help himself, and maybe Annie can't either.

The bed creaks as Sam shifts forward, licking at his lips, focused on hers. She's his girlfriend, he can kiss her if he'd like to... right? Especially if that's what she wants as well.

Maybe he's losing it (or lost it completely), but she's pressing forward as well, a minute shift and... right. It'll be perfect. Maybe they can drink some more and talk about moving in together. After they kiss a bit more. That just doesn't seem to happen enough, though he could just always feel that way.

The knock on the door pops the moment, Annie pulling back quickly, Sam almost losing hold of his wine glass. Another knock, just as insistent, and Sam sighs and he rolls his eyes – Annie laughing as well, a nervous titter. Sam grins at her, nervousness rushing through him and leaving him half dizzy, half giddy. That and the butterflies in his stomach. He stands, sets his glass on the shelf atop the bedframe.

'Let me just get that.'

She presses her glass to her lips, nods.

He doesn't know who else might end up at his flat tonight – certainly not Gene, he'd made it clear he didn't want to see Sam until the new year. So when he sees Chris on the other side of the open door... well, it leaves him at something of a loss.

'I...' Sam blinks, tries to make himself smile, hopefully succeeds. 'Chris. What a surprise.'

'I, er – hello, Boss. Happy Christmas.' Chris flashes a grin in return, shifts from one foot to the other.

'What... why did you leave the party?' It's confusing, why would Chris be there, grinning that goofy grin of his, seeing as he was having such a bloody blast of it back at CID? And more importantly than that: 'How did you even find out where I live?'

Chris shrugs, runs a hand back through his hair. Sam leans against the door, shakes his head. 'Well, you know, I am a detective.'

'What the nonce is trying to say, we peeked at your file – don't get your knickers in a twist, Tyler. Chris only took a look at the relevant info. Wouldn't let me take a look at all.' Sam blinks, blinks again, one more dazed shake of his head. Chris had been enough of a surprise, but seeing Ray Carling standing outside his front door... well, he's well and truly dazed.

'Well of course not, that's confidential – you...' It's the thing that Ray's carting with him that confuses him the most, standing out amidst the smoke from the cigarette that's hanging from his lips. 'You brought a tree.'

'Yeah, um – you stormed off and the Guv was gone too, and I was just thinking... well. It's Christmas Eve. Didn't think we should let it go to waste. Got it decorated and everything, you know?' Chris had definitely seemed pleased with it, perched on the corner of his desk as it had been. When he'd decided to make his way over to Sam's flat, apparently he'd thought that the tree needed to come along as well.

'You...' He almost laughs. 'I guess... well. It's Christmas and all. Come on in? There's some... some leftovers in the fridge, if you'd like to take a look...' At such a loss, Sam shakes his head, dazed and confused. He should have thought ahead and done some shopping, not that he'd thought he'd have so many guests at one time.

That must be why he opens his mouth again, says those four little words that he can never take back: 'Make yourselves at home.'

–

The wine doesn't last long (two bottles and four people, it just wasn't meant to be), and no one picks on him for having Annie over. There's some whisky as well, a remnant of Gene's that he left in his flat, or maybe something that Sam bought to him since he kept insisting on drinking everything of Sam's first. It's that bottle they move onto next. It probably isn't the best idea ever, but Sam's having such great luck in that department tonight – why not? Dive right on in.

Chris fiddles with the radio until he finds some proper music. He ends up dancing. He looks like an utter fool. Ray laughs and jeers at him and only helps to spur him on. He's really going to get a call to the police about this, at this rate.

Seeing as it's getting a bit cramped inside, Sam leaves the front door open – his flat just isn't designed with this much company in mind. There's a rap at the door frame, and Sam – feeling the whisky on top of the wine, it really was a bad idea – looks up, laughs when he sees who's waiting.

'Bit bizarre, don't you think?'

Annie's voice, warm, to his right.

'Yeah, it really is. Let me go see what she has to say.' He smiles at her, smiles and means it.

'I... Phyllis.' He gets up, a bit topsy turvy, like he might just topple over at any second, or maybe it's just the room that's making him feel that way. It's nice, actually, the pleasant rush of heat that's going through him now, less nervousness and more... happiness. He hasn't felt this much at ease in a long, long time.

It's incredibly strange, though not in a way that's off-putting.

Phyllis gives him a sharp nod in reply, holds out a paper-wrapped box. 'Boss. Merry Christmas.'

'I... thank you.' He shakes his head, gazes down at the box in wonder.

She crosses her arms over her chest, smirking smugly. 'Thought you could do with some holiday cheer. Go on then, open it up.' Still amazed that Phyllis has made her way to his flat as well, he nods, carts the package over to the worktop before setting it down.

Sam looks for a knife, finds one, slices through the paper. Chris makes a rush for the loo, pulling the folding door closed behind him. Knowing what's coming next, Sam reaches out, flips the tap on – at least it muffles some of the sound of Chris heaving up.

'Bloody nonce.' Ray shakes his head, but the insult was tinged with fondness.

Sam rolls his eyes, grins at Phyllis. He finishes with the packages, makes his way through the box beneath it, revealing the treat inside. 'Minced pie – lovely. That's... lovely. Thank you – again. He shakes his head, still a bit confused, leftover apprehension making its return. Phyllis smiles, still bloody smug.

'It's my secret recipe.'

'...right.' Sam grins, the cheer building, his cheeks feeling like they'll split wide open. 'Staying?'

Phyllis nods. The gaudy Christmas jumper she's wearing would make Nelson proud.

'Alright then – make yourself at home.' Phyllis nods, heads off over to sit across from Annie, Sam following with a fresh glass in hand. How exactly had this ended up happening?

And how much longer til his next guest arrives?

–

Fifteen minutes later, Sam feels the shift in the mood immediately – Chris had found another station to listen to, this one was playing Christmas music and nothing else, and Sam looks up because he feels the weight of Gene's gaze on him. He's standing at the door, leaning against the frame, arms tucked across his chest.

Annie slides her hand over Sam's, squeezes it. He smiles back at her. 'Don't worry, I'm sure he'll be civil.'

Phyllis laughs, downs the rest of her whisky. Chris tugs on her arm. 'Come on, Phyllis – um, do you dance?'

Sam rolls his eyes, hand sliding away from Annie's. He edges around the bed, where Ray is sitting with his own glass, and ends up face to face with their rather mutual DCI, folding his arms in a likewise way. 'Was wondering when you'd decide to show up.'

Gene huffs, looks from Sam to the rest of the room – Phyllis had been sitting in the recliner, but she's attempting to dance with Chris now, and at least Phyllis seems to be putting in some actual effort. Ray's sipping at his glass from his place at the table, one empty whisky bottle and a number of glasses, all in various states of fullness. Annie's the one who's perched on his bed, looking mostly amused, covering her mouth with her hand as she watches Chris and Phyllis attempting to dance.

'Shit,' Gene whistles, shakes his head. 'It's packed tight in here. What the bloody hell is going on here? Never thought you were a very good hostess at the best of times...' His words trail off. Tonight's hardly been the best of times, though it's been getting better.

'Yeah, just thought it best to leave the door open... just in case the chaos needed to spill out into the hall.' He doesn't know what to expect now, not from Gene, not from anything else, because he's up and had his fill of surprises for the night. 'Gene, I...'

'Careful, Sammy-boy – gonna get the police called on you, making this sort of ruckus. And on Christmas Eve, you bloody twonk.'

Sam laughs, grins, unfolds his arms and shrugs. 'Right, well, seems they're already here.' Gene snorts softly, releases his arms as well, reaches out to grab Sam by the shoulder.

'Bloody hell, isn't that the truth of it. Sam, I – '

'Look, Gene, I – '

That, at the same time.

'You first,' Gene says.

'No, you first,' Sam insists.

'You first, or else.' Gene's scowling now, his grip on Sam's shoulder having tightened – just what he needed, bruises for Christmas.

'Okay...' He sigh, shakes his head, somewhat absently – the longer the night goes on, the more dazed he's left feeling, and he doesn't think he can take too many more surprises. 'I'd rather not end up in A&E tonight. Wait times are horrendous this time of the year, you know?'

Gene rolls his eyes, shakes him by the arm. 'Get to it, Tyler.'

Get to it? What's he going to say?

'I'm sorry. You know more about this city... this version of Manchester, anyhow – than I do, and you might just know what you're talking about in regards to Clint and his gang. I've been dragging my heels and being a bloody obstinate bastard, and... and I don't even know why. Old habits die hard.' That's it, more or less – mostly more – and Gene nods back at him, a simple enough gesture that manages to speak volumes. It was easier to say than he'd thought it was, because the words just seemed to fit into place.

'Yeah, they do.' He's not whispering, but his voice has softened – the noise in the background seems to soften as well, muffled by their closeness, Sam's that focused on what Gene will end up saying next. 'Still, I think you have a point about the crime scene – there's something off about it, something just doesn't add up. Not that we need to go tramping about there tonight. Day after tomorrow, perhaps? The missus is expecting you and your plus one to join us for Christmas dinner.'

He smiles, slowly, amazement running through him. Gene, admitting he might just have it right... will wonders ever cease to amaze? 'I... I'm still honoured she wants me over.'

He shrugs, acting like it doesn't matter, when Sam knows it matters a whole bloody lot. 'Well, I complain about you all the time – don't you look at me like that, I've said some nicer things too. Just think it's finally time she knows who you are. I mean, she insists.'

'Well, Annie says it shouldn't be any problem... we'll be having Christmas breakfast with her parents and her brothers...' It hits him, in a rush, and he's left grinning. Right, still in a daze. He's got more family here than he'd ever guessed at, doesn't he? Maybe it isn't the same thing, but it's still something, and it's definitely something he can build on.

Gene nods, leaves it at that, squeezes Sam's arm once more before letting him go. 'Brilliant.'

'Come on in. About to do some digging about for something else to drink. There's some food left too...' He nods towards the worktop, with the pie and scattered remnants from his fridge. Oh, and the little tree as well.

Gene grins, eases on into the room. He doesn't have to ask his Guv to make himself at home, because from the first time he ever invaded Sam's flat, he's been doing just that. Sam turns and watches as Gene is welcomed by the rest of the impromptu guests, and him left standing at the door. He reaches out and places his hand on the door frame, a strange sense of newness welling up inside him.

He's lived in this flat for a long time now, but it's never managed to feel like _home_ , not completely. Now, the mismatched members of his team attempting to make merry as Christmas looms before them all, it finally does. He'll hold onto it a little while longer before he gets back to discussing moving in with Annie. All in good time.

Gene had snagged Annie up from where she'd been sitting, and with Phyllis and Chris catching their breath, Annie's the one who's being spun about. 'Oi – get on in here, Gladys. You're missing all the fun.'

Annie laughs. Ray grimaces. Gene keeps on grinning like he never means to stop.

Sam rolls his eyes, pushes off from the doorway. 1974 is going to be great.


End file.
